I suck in a tight breath. “Definevery?” I make sure she can see my hands. “All things considered, it was actually quite impulsive.”
“For you?”
“I believe for most anyone.”
“Interesting,” she murmurs, takes her adorable notes, and opens her mouth to continue the interrogation.
I interrupt, “I believe it’s my turn, and also that we should add a limitation to how many lies we’re allowed. Like you can’t have two in a row.”
She hums. “Any limitation makes it easy to manipulate.”
“What if only two lies are allowed in a row, but vague answers or riddles are acceptable?”
“I suppose that’s tolerable. What’s your question for me?”
“Do you really want an August wedding?”
Her lashes flutter as her lips part. “Yes.” She wets her parted lips, regaining herself. “Do you have family connections here?”
My expression sharpens, because there’s no good answer to that one. Unless I break the rules and lie outright. Which I’m not going to do. I say, “Perhaps.”
Her expression sharpens, igniting. “So when you told me you were moving here to start over, that was a lie.”
I hold her pointed look. “I believe it’s my turn.”
She reaches for a sandwich and gives me the floor.
I say, “What are the approximate chances we get married next month?”
She snorts into the egg salad. “Next month? Which is in…a week and a half?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not seriously wasting a question on that, are you?”
“To my knowledge, we didn’t put a limit on the questions, just the lies.”
She hums, takes another bite, and crosses her fingers. “Zero.”
Gaze fixed on her hand, I say, “That’s actually quite promising.”
“I’m not one to think things are impossible, even if they are improbable.”
“I’m not one to think you’d have crossed your fingers if you thought they were particularly improbable right now.”
“All things considered, you’re a rather determined individual. Maybe I just didn’t feel like doing the math to pit your determination against my love of slow burn.”
“Most wouldn’t consider us a slow burn already.”
“Most fail to understand the nuances behind falling in love and believe that any characters who treat one another well must be in love already simply because they’re reading a romance and know it’s destiny.” Her fingers uncross, and she shows them clearly. “I am not in love with you. We have hardly touched. A slow burn is marked by the gradual development of feelings and consistent tension. So long as my feelings remain cautiously invested while yours display an obvious desire to pin me to this picnic blanket, we continue to burn ever slowly in ahe falls firstmanner rife with tension. In stories, slow burns aren’t defined by literal time stamps. Some authors can turn one week into a hundred thousand words. As with most things, it’s whatever the author can convince the reader tofeel—regardless of the truth.”
“Yet, out here in the real world, if we’re married next month, that would constitute a shotgun wedding by many standards, and, out here in the real world, slowing time would inevitablymean boring you. So it really is my determination against your willpower. And you should know…I’m an incredibly determined individual.”
She considers me, murmuring, “Whatever happens, all that matters is that I’ll still be marketing my vampire romance as a slow burn, even if it’s only a month long. I’m already at fifty thousand words, and their hands haven’t so much as brushed.”
I secure a carrot stick and dip it in the ranch. “Whose turn is it for a question?”
“Mine. But if you’ve thought up something interesting, I’ll allow you to go.”
